All
by dandyparakeet
Summary: The answer was a lot simpler than anyone thought... and ten times more complicated.


Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

What the –

Click.

…slag?

Click, click.

Click?

Thoroughly confused, the mech ducked into a doorway, visor folding down to enhance his already sharp vision. Nothing in the hallway stirred, the room behind the metal door was empty, and the deserted base was as lifeless as it had been for the past several vorns.

So what was causing that slagging –

Click.

There it was again! He didn't get annoyed easily, and when he was he didn't generally show it, but this particular mission was putting quite a bit of stress on his shoulders, stress that made his jumpier than normal. So when there were strange sounds coming from nowhere and everywhere, when there was nothing to warrant any noise whatsoever, he was understandably aggravated.

Click.

By Primus! What the slag was going on?!

Thoroughly frustrated, and beginning to be alarmingly spooked – jittery nerves were a big no-no in his profession – the mech nearly smacked his helm on what was left of the ceiling when the noise sounded again. Grumbling crossly, he left his hiding place, peered around in vain for the source of the noise, and resumed his silent trek to the remains of the base's med bay.

At least, it _would_ have been silent if not for the fragging –

Click.

The mech spun around, bristling at nothing. Or so it would appear to the casual observer, of which there was a severe lack in attendance. Digits shifted into claws that were eerily similar to his enemy's, and a low growl permeated the silence.

Click.

That did it!

He hissed, pivoted, and bolted down the corridor, listening carefully for the sounds of pursuit.

Nothing. Whoever was there with him was good at keeping quiet when he or she wanted to. Which really put a dampener on things, because he needed to either confirm or rebuke the rumors of a classified science project that had been hidden here before the base was abandoned, and he needed to do it quick or his team commander was going to get worried.

And then the radio silence would be broken, and who knew who was monitoring the area?

Rounding a corner, the mech somehow managed to trip over some primus accursed object that should not have been there, and his faceplates met the slowly deteriorating floor.

Click!

Great. Now his company was _laughing_ at him. This mission was _really_ going to the pit, and _really_ fast. Someone else would have been able to do it better, undoubtedly, but _no_, they sent in _him_, and he just _had_ to accept, and _now_ look at where he was!

Sprawled on the floor, face down, like the _idiot_ he was, while a potential enemy that was completely invisible was probably – almost _certainly_ – laughing uncontrollably!

The mech pushed himself to his feet, optics onlining to see the cause of his ungraceful fall was an ancient datapad. The claws on one of his hands whirred and vanished, replaced by more normal-looking fingers, which grasped the object carefully, pushing gently on the _on_ button.

The datapad blinked to life, the first few glyphs revealing the contents as some forgotten mech's journal. He subspaced it for perusal when he wasn't on a critical mission and pushed himself to his feet.

Click?

The mech resisted the urge to roll his optics, and walked the few remaining steps to the desolate med bay. There was no worry over opening the doors, as they'd long vanished, but there _was_ concern over the contents of the bay.

Berths, tools, supplies… something that looked suspiciously like a forcefully amputated arm… it was all strewn about the place haphazardly, looking very much like a battle had occurred. To say it was a mess would be an understatement. And not only an understatement, but a _severe_ understatement.

Great. Now how was he supposed to find whatever the slag he was supposed to find? Not only did he not know what he was looking for, but he was looking for it in a worse disaster zone than Koan after a prolonged drinking spree!

Click.

He took a step into the room, visor folding so his optics were visible. No time like the present, eh?

Click?

A long, _long_ time later, all of which was spent searching for something out of the ordinary but ordinary enough to have been missed by scavengers, the mech released a tired sigh and all but collapsed on the floor. Primus, he was tired. And his deadline was almost up, too.

Lovely.

At least the clicking sound had stopped. Heh. Probably waiting for him to exhaust himself in his frantic but careful search before it seized the science project itself. Typical lowlife – lazy, and more than happy to let someone else do all the hard work. Why, the day one of his enemies did something even slightly proactive would probably be the same day some mech didn't warm up to his cheerful attitude, or the day Megatron apologized to Prime.

Now _that_ would make an interesting spectacle.

He glanced at his chronometer. Slag. His commander was probably frying a few circuits wondering where he was. Ah, well. Whoever was watching hadn't made a move yet, and what were the odds of someone keeping a close optic on such an out of the way and strategically dead place? They hadn't even heard of this science project until an intelligence officer had collected a vague rumor, and even then they weren't sure exactly which abandoned, haunted base, the rumor was referring to.

But they had a good idea, which was better than nothing.

Click.

Startled from his reverie, the mech leapt high enough that this time his head _did_ smack into something. And that disoriented him enough that he landed on his aft, and once again, he'd made a fool of himself.

It also, as he discovered upon attempting to stand, messed up his equilibrium.

"Slaggit!" He knew he wasn't supposed to say anything, but really, someone would have to be completely deaf to miss the clang as his head collided with an old support beam.

…chirr?

His point exactly.

…chirr-click?

"Oh, hush already," he grumbled at the nonexistent source of his greatest aggravation so far. "I know you're there, you know I'm here, and unless you've got a bunch of little friends hiding out somewhere, it's just us. You might as well come on out an` joint th` party."

A tiny scuffling noise was all the warning he received before two pinpricks of light popped in front of his faceplates, very nearly scaring the living slag out of him. Reeling back from the sudden appearance, and so close to him, he crashed into the old wall behind him.

The metal structure, worn from vorns of neglect, creaked ominously. Cursing his luck – _again_ – he scuttled out from under it as it emitted one last groan before coming down in an impressive display of rusted dust. The two pinpricks vanished momentarily before reappearing near his feet, accompanied by a questioning whistle.

Well. _That_ was interesting.

Click?

"I'm okay," he managed, once his fuel pump speed had returned to normal parameters. "Ya` jus' startled me is all."

The miniscule lights bobbed it what he assumed was a nod, and the little critter darted forward to sit next to his hand. Activating his headlights, the mech let loose a curse. "Primus fraggit!"

Slag.

Double slag.

And _triple_ slag!

Well… at least he found the experiment, right?

The only question was what he was supposed to _do_ to with it. Command had been so sure that it was only a myth… they hadn't done anything to prepare for a potential complication. No wonder they sent one of the most inexperienced mechs in. It'd be like a practice run. A training session. Nothing to worry about.

Nothing to worry about.

Ha! Slagging idiots! Not only was the experiment _very_ real, but it was also a potential problem! Frag that – it _was_ a problem! What if their enemies had gotten here first, huh? What then? This thing was possibly the ultimate spy – undetectable, untraceable, agile, tiny, and almost silent. If it weren't for the annoying little noises, it _would_ have been silent, and he never would have found it.

Which brought him to the question – why did it let him find it? It obviously knew how to do its job, and it looked complete enough… maybe he was simply the first mech to visit the base since its desertion?

No – that one mech who'd started the rumor said that the scientists went back in secret to recover the project, but were unsuccessful. Apparently, they'd labeled the project as terminated and moved on to other matters.

Chirr?

"What the slag _are_ you, exactly?" he wondered, poking the little creation with a blunt finger. It reacted with a poke of its own and a tiny spark of electricity, sending tingles running down through his hand, up him arm, and straight to his CPU. A tenth of a millionth of an astrosecond passed before he felt a connection form and the accompanying foreign presence.

_"I am project-unit 5996321-beta-atsro-4. And you are…?"_

The mech yelped at the sudden intrusion. "What the _frag_?!"

_"You are… `what the frag'?"_

"Wha? Ah – no, tha`s jus` somethin' mech say when they's surprised."

The experiment did the head-bobbing thing again. _"I… surprise you?"_

"Slag, yes!" The mech moved his limbs into a more dignified position, orienting himself on his knees. "I wasn` exactly `spectin` ta fin` an advanced drone."

The critter bristled and poked him again. _"I am not a drone. No drone, no matter how advanced, has sentiency."_

Ah, slag.

"Sorry `fer offendin` ya." He paused. "Unless yer a `Con. Then the insult was intended."

_"What is a… con?"_

"A `Con? `S a nickname fer Decepticons. Big scary dudes. Real spiky, `n not real partial t` Autobots."

_"My… creators mentioned these names before they left."_

"Did they, now?" the larger mech leaned forward curiously. "And who were your creators?"

_"That information cannot be disclosed at this time."_

…okay….

"My apologies," he answered easily. "I was programmed to collect information. It's my function. Curiosity is in my nature. How `bout you?"

Tiny optics blinked. _"My function is to serve my master in whatever task he or she assigns me."_

"Yer a servant?"

_"Yes."_

Well… that would explain the silence. And the confidentiality. And the espionage skills. "What happened to your master?"

_"He and his colleagues left. By the time they returned, I had developed sentiency, and possessed no wish to serve him any longer, so I hid."_

And that explained the sentiency. Being left alone for that long tended to have serious repercussions. Sometimes, though, a mech would get lucky and the consequences wouldn't be that bad. Like now. Sentiency was a great thing to develop. Most of the time.

He frowned. "But what about your programming? Wouldn't that call for a master regardless?"

_"Yes. Unfortunately, no one has visited this abode since. Until now."_

Oh.

Oh, slag.

"You want me to become your new master."

It wasn't a question.

_"Affirmative."_

That wasn't a question, either.

He shook his head. "It won't work. I can't just waltz back to my commander with a personal servant in tow. Besides, I don` wanna be some mech` master. It goes against m` morals. `S not right."

The tiny mech moved closer. _"Please. I cannot last much longer. I won't be a problem – I'll stay out of sight if I must, and I'll be silent. Just don't make me stay here. Please!"_

"Couldn't you just leave and find someone else? There're bound to be other mechs out there who would _love_ to have a servant, as twisted as it is." He backed up a little bit, somewhat alarmed by the sudden desperation in the mental voice. "You don't even know my designation, yet. How do you know I'm not just as bad, or worse, than your previous master?"

_"No mech could be worse,"_ the experiment growled darkly. _"Besides, you've yet to threaten me, or cause me physical harm. And you've been wonderfully polite and kind when I'm just as much of a stranger to you as you are to me." _He skittered even closer. _"And I cannot leave – my programming will only accept a master here, where I was created. It was my previous master's last command. My next master __**must**__ be instated here."_

"Look, even if I _were_ willing to have a servant, my commander wouldn't allow it. You'd be strapped down, shoved in a crate and shipped off to the science department for study, sentiency or not."

_"Not if your commander does not know I'm there. I have the capability to transform into various objects, and am small enough to fit in your subspace. And scanners of any sort cannot pick up my presence. I'll go into prolonged stasis and stay in your subspace indefinitely, if only you'll accept me. Or I'll become one of your tools – they'll never know!"_

He'd thought of everything, hadn't he?

The larger mech frowned, thinking it over. He really didn't like the thought of a sentient mech's will being subject to his. And what the little critter was after sounded an awful lot like slavery more than a position of service. But at the same time, it wouldn't be fair to deny what the mini-dude's programming dictated. It'd be like starving a Seeker from flight, or leaving a mining `bot in the cast expanse of empty space without companionship.

"Alright. I'll let you establish the connection. But we'll have to hide you, and I ain't stickin` ya in m` subspace. Yer a free bot, an` I won` stop ya from makin` yer own decisions. You understand?" He'd do what must be done to help the guy, but there was no fragging way he'd ever become somebody's master.

_"Thank you! Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!"_ The experiment scrambled up the larger mech's arm, coming to a graceful halt on his shoulder. Tiny fingers flipped open a port on the operative's neck.

**Query: Accept service bond?**

The larger mech confirmed the request. There was a tingle in his spark as the connection was formed, and then his unexpected companion's presence was pulsing softly next to his own.

The port was closed.

~I will not fail you.~

He sighed, and responded via the bond. ~Let's get you hidden, then. I need to return soon.~ Pause. ~This bond won't show up on medical scans, will it?~

~No. You are safe.~

~Good. You mentioned something about transforming into tools,~ he began as an idea began to form. ~Does that include tools that are a part of a mech's systems?~

~Yes. You wish me to hide within you?~

~It would avoid the possibility of someone borrowin` one o` m` tools and pickin` you up. And it would decrease th` possibility of discovery.~

~Whatever you wish.~

~I'm not makin` you do anything`, kid. Just suggestin`.~

~Of course. Do you have a system or tool in mind?~

~Depends of yer personal capabilities `n stats `n stuff. I don` wanna limit yer abilities or impose or anythin` like that.~

~You won't. I was created to be very adaptable.~

~Oh? In that case, you'll need an actual designation as well. A number aint gonna cut while yer with me.~

~I…~ The small mech paused, thinking. ~I have never considered being worthy of a designation.~

~Well, ya are now.~

~I… thank you.~

~Yer welcome.~ Briefly glancing around the messy bay, the bigger mech continued orally, "Now, I compiled a list of possible tools depending on what yer comfortable with doing. Ah've a few weapons yer size, a couple storage compartments, my visor, a holographic projector, sensor relays, and electric and magnetic pulse generators. Take yer pick."

~I… I do not wish to be a weapon. My previous master once used me as such, and the reminder would be painful. A storage compartment might be a bit risky, depending on what was stored in there, and I'd like to be able to detach every once in a while…~

"Which leaves my visor, projector, and generators." He stood an rummaged idly through one of the piles, a small part of his processor mulling over a designation for his assistant.

~Perhaps a combination of the two?~ the smaller suggested. ~Or of all three? I was designed to be a multi-purpose being, so having two or three alts and multiple capabilities is not a problem.~

Hmm… "I've heard of visors with extended features, like holographic projectors and energy generators, but they're really rare. You'd have to be able to merge the three together on your own, but if you want you, I won't stop you. At the very least it would mean less luggage."

The tiny mech nodded. ~May I scan your visor?~

"O` course." The blue crystal clicked into place. A millionth of an astrosecond later – dang, but this little guy was fast and efficient – the tingle of a scan danced over it.

~I will need to scan your projector and generators as well.~

Wordlessly, he removed the panels on his wrists and popped out the generators, the holographic projector unfolding from his hip. Another nod signaled the scans were finished, and his assistant scampered down to his master's hand. ~This is surprisingly simpler than I imagined,~ the smaller admitted as his CPU merged the three tools together to form a high-tech visor spec. ~I am surprised scientists have not taken this further. The possibilities are extensive.~

Another moment and the configuration was completed. His audios caught the sound of clicking and whirring as new armor folded out, and then a visor identical to the one he wore rested on his palm. "Dang, that was fast. It took our scientists _vorns_ to figure that out."

~Thank you,~ preened them visor. ~Now would be a good time to hook me up, by the way.~

"Ah, yes." The larger smiled as he disengaged his old visor and pulled it off. The new one – the living one - clipped neatly into place, his systems immediately compensating for the new hardware. Then the visor was folding up and back into his helm. "How ya doin`, kid?"

~It feels… strange to be in so many places at once. And I have never been so close to a mech before, nor powered by another's energon and spark energy. It feels… nice.~

"Good. Now for a designation."

~Perhaps you ought to contact your commander first, and inform him that there's been a minor delay. It will give us a little more time. And then you can tell me _your_ name? I'd rather not call you 'master' for the remainder of my existence.~

Grinning now, the larger mech let loose a short, easy laugh. "Agreed. Designation for a designation. I'll contact my CO now." He replaced the generators and panels on his wrists, folded the projector back into his hip – it'd be kinda suspicious if he returned with a super high tech visor, especially considering what he'd been sent to find – and activated his comlink. *Vice, you there?*

The reply was immediate. *Affirmative.* Relief was clear, even over the com.

*My apologies, sir. I would have contacted you sooner, but I ran into a minor delay. Nothing to worry about.*

*What sort of delay?*

Uh… *Thought someone might be tailin' me fer a while, `s all, so I took a roundabout route.* Nothing like the truth, right? *I think it was just a sensor ghost or something, though. My scans aren't picking up anyone.*

*Good, good. Have you searched for the experiment?*

*Yessir, and I think I found what was left of it. It doesn't look like it'll be of any use to anyone anymore. Time did a real number on it.*

*Can you tell what its original function was supposed to be?*

*No, sir. It sort of looks like a multipurpose tool, but that's all I can gather.*

*Good. Return to base as soon as you can, soldier.*

*Affirmative.*

*Vice out.*

Whew. _That_ could have been _way_ worse. "Okay, then, kid. Have you thought about your designation yet?"

~Yes. But you have yet to tell me yours.~

Another laugh. "Aye, but I will. I don` make promises lightly. Just… later. You don't even _have_ a designation yet."

~True, but I have not had one my entire existence. I can wait the astrosecond it takes for you to tell me yours.~

"And I can wait as well. You're need is greater."

~…very well. What do you have in mind?~

Much better. The larger mech left the tattered med bay and sauntered down the hall, confident that there was no threat. "It's your designation. You pick."

~But I do not know what would be acceptable. I have no experience to draw upon, no knowledge of what is and is not allowed.~

"So?" He turned the corner where he'd slipped on the datapad. "You know yourself better than I do, and yer designation is supposed to represent a bit of who ya are."

~I am many things.~

"Well, then, what's yer most prominent characteristic?" Past the doorway he hid in when the clicking first became an issue. They were almost home free.

~Like what?~

"Well… take my CO, for example. He tends to be a little controlling, and `e's a bit o` a perfectionist, so `is name's Vice."

~I… I understand, but I do not know what designation would fit my personality, as I have not had much opportunity to compare it to others'.~

He could see the entrance to the base. "Okay… uh… what about… what d`ya stand fer?"

~Stand for?~

"Yer morals. Standards. Personal beliefs." The cool air of a Cybertronian night washed through his intakes, replacing the base's stale atmosphere. "Could even be somethin` like politics. I once heard of a mech whose primary designation was Decepticon."

~As of yet, I am a neutral. Nor do I have any beliefs strong enough to be that prominent.~

Slagging Primus, but this was a difficult task. How does one designate a mature mech with the experience of a sparkling? "In that case, what's the one thing you treasure most?"

~The happiness of others, mainly my master. And my sentiency, followed closely by my free agency.~ Wow. That was a quick answer.

"Sounds like you've got yerself a bit o` a spirit, kid." Wait… that was it! "Hey! What if we named ya Spirit?"

~It sounds… befitting, but somehow not quite enough. Like it's missing something.~

"Missing something?"

~Yes.~

"How so?"

~I have more than just spirit – I have empathy. Understanding. And an urge to help others.~  
"You're talking about compassion."

~Affirmative.~

Hmm…

Brightspirit?

No…

Lifespirit?

Nada.

Starspirit?

Definitely not. But almost.

"How `bout Sunspirit?"

~Sunspirit? It's close… but not quite, I think.~

Okay, then… um… Greatspirit, Moonspirit, Spiritlight, Deepspirit, Spiritflare, Strongspirit… maybe spirit wasn't such a good idea. Perhaps something that represented spirit? Like… an ember? Or fire... or the sun… or the wind… "What do you think of Smallsun?"

~Definitely not.~

"Gotch`a." Uh… "Well, did you have any function other than to serve?"

~No. Service covered an incredible range of activities.~

Lots of functions. Got it.

"What about physical characteristics? Special abilities?"

~I was designed to do anything and everything.~

Hadn't they covered that already? "Um… How `bout Omni? Since you have so many functions, but one function, and so many characteristics, but that in and of itself is one characteristic… and 'Omni' means all, so…"

~Omni? Yes, I do believe that will work."

"Excellent. Omni it is."

~Yes. Omni I am, but you… you are yet to be anybody.~

"Alright, alright. I'm Jazz."


End file.
